


Shelter

by Cyan (vehicroids)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Father Figures, Gen, God damn I don't know how to tag this, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehicroids/pseuds/Cyan
Summary: It had been ten years since the world had ended, and five since Brunhart had lost everything. But perhaps he could find something in a lost young man.





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M Vice (Impavidus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impavidus/gifts).



> I'M POSTING ORIGINAL STUFF even tho they're not my OCs - they belong to [Meg!](https://twitter.com/i_mpavidus)! It's part of an exchange. Check her out, she's sweet, her OCs are great, and her art is fantastic.
> 
> The plot is pretty much a direct reference to canon from what I remember sooo oops :'D ;;
> 
> Come check me out on [Tumblr](http://vehicroids.tumblr.com), too!

It had been ten years since the world as everyone knew it ended. It had been almost five since Brunhart’s world ended. The passing years had been cruel to him, and some days, he wondered why he was still alive. He had grown bitter, the taste of bitterness forming a thick layer on his tongue. He had nothing left for him, yet somehow, he kept fighting, kept going. Just take it one step at a time.

Not many survivors remained; after nuclear war, it was amazing anyone did survive. Food was scarce, most of it having mutated. No one was sure what was and was not safe to eat anymore, and a few brave souls dared to eat the strange foods. Brunhart was one of them; he had to eat something, and he wasn’t about to dwindle everyone else’s food supplies.

He wandered from place to place, having long since left his home. He helped where he could, be it with taking down mutated creatures, or gathering food in settlements he encountered. In exchange, the local populace would grant him a bed and a roof over his head. In truth, Brunhart could have stayed at countless settlements if he so chose, but nowhere felt like home anymore. He was as happy as he could he, a wandering gun for hire. This was where Brunhart was needed most, he felt.

Though, even he could admit he was lonely. A shotgun couldn't keep him warm at night, he couldn't tuck a hunting knife into bed. All Brunhart had were old photos, his memories, and his wife's wedding ring tucked away safety. He kept to himself - he kept his head down, did as he was asked, and left. Though, if he felt something was off, he walked away immediately. He avoided forming attachments to those he encountered, believing himself to be cursed. Despite that, he did have a couple of friends, even if he tried not to.

His legs were weary from travelling, feet covered in blisters, but it was nothing Brunhart wasn't used to. He was growing too old for this, he realised, but that wouldn't stop him. Nothing would; he would keep going until he was worn to the bone. He wasn't willing to die a meaningless death, he would live for his family, who could not keep going.

He took a break between settlements, forming a small fire to keep him warm overnight. Winter would soon be here again, he could feel it in his bones. He held his cold fingers over the heat, silently thankful for the warmth it afforded. He took in a deep breath, trying to relax as he listened to the crackle of the fire. Peace at last, though how long it would last for, Brunhart didn’t know.

He heard a faint groan, piercing through the silence, not far from where he was. Brunhart could have ignored it, but he wasn't one to ignore a noise. It could have been a person in distress just as much as it could have been trouble. He got up and moved slowly in the direction of the groan. He kept a hand on his shotgun, just in case.

Brunhart passed through bushes and trees, and finally found the source. A young man - no older than eighteen, Brunhart estimated, though likely younger - slumped down against a tree. He crouched down to the floor, brushing the red hair from the young man's face. He was dirty, stunk to high heavens. His cheeks had sunken in, bags under his eyes. Brunhart grabbed his wrist to check his pulse, feeling so fragile in his hand. A pulse. Thank goodness.

“Boy,” he said, gently shaking him, “wake up.”

He couldn't have been too far from death from the look of him; sleep would have been his end. The young man opened his eyes, slowly, blinking owlishly at Brunhart. He rubbed the heel of his free hand against his eye. Brunhart removed the waterskin from his belt and opened it, holding it out to the young man. He appeared too dazed to hold onto it, so instead, Brunhart held it for him as he drank. He gasped when he was done, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“... Thank you,” he mumbled, a touch more awake, much to Brunhart’s relief.

“What's your name?” Brunhart asked.

“Albtraum,” he said.

An unusual name, Brunhart noted. “Have you eaten?” Albtraum shook his head. “Give me a moment.”

He could have grabbed his abandoned items and brought them over but, well, they could both use a fire. That would have been far harder, and far more dangerous to bring over. Brunhart carefully wrapped Albtraum’s arm around his shoulders, helping him to his feet, guiding him to the small camp he had set up. He place Albtraum as close to the fire as he could without risk of him touching the fire by accident. He reached into his bag, pulling out some food he had stashed away in there. He handed it over to Albtraum, who looked at it curiously.

“It's just a chicken sandwich,” Brunhart assured him. Or, rather, it was as close to chicken as one could get, these days.

Albtraum opened it up to check, then shrugged, before taking a bite. Then another. And another. Within seconds, the sandwich was gone, and Brunhart was impressed. Albtraum licked his fingers, wanting to ingest every part of that sandwich. Brunhart watched him in silence, then reached into his bag for more food.

“Eat slower,” Brunhart said, handing him another sandwich.

Albtraum nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

Not much for conversation, Brunhart noted. That was fine; he wasn't, either. Albtraum made an effort to eat slower, though still a little quicker than he should. What was a kid like him doing by himself? The number of wanderers was dwindling, and this boy seemed too young and too unprepared to be a wanderer. Lost his family, maybe? Or, more likely, they had abandoned him, believing him to be a liability or a mouth too many. It wasn't the first time Brunhart saw something like this; the simple solution was getting him to a nearby settlement.

“Are you alone?” Brunhart asked, receiving a nod as a response. As he thought. “Any family?” Albtraum shook his head. “Friends?” A brief pause, a flash of sadness, and a slow shake of his head.

Brunhart was worried; who would leave Albtraum like this? Maybe his loved ones died, rather than abandoning him, but he doubted that. Albtraum raised his knees to his chest, hugging himself. He didn't want to know what that poor kid had seen or been through. His gaze lowered, poking at the fire with a stick. He felt bad for him, he really did.

“Help yourself to food, just don't eat it all,” Brunhart said, gesturing to the bag by his side. He didn't mind going with less if it ensured Albtraum would be okay.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Brunhart wondered if the boy knew any more words, or if he was just shy. He couldn't blame him; at his age, he would be nervous, too, if he woke up to a man like Brunhart. He frowned, concerned, but they weren't far from the nearest settlement. He had a friend there, someone who would surely keep Albtraum with minimal fuss. Well, minimal for his friend, anyway.

He looked back over at Albtraum, who had settled against the tree. He yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open. At least now if he fell asleep, he shouldn't say asleep. He tried to fight it as best he could, but in the end, sleep won. Albtraum looked comfortable against the tree trunk, at peace. Brunhart exhaled softly, peeling off the top layer of his clothing and wrapping the large jacket snuggly over Albtraum.

Brunhart told himself not to get attached to anyone, and he wasn't. That was what he was telling himself, in any case. He was just looking after a boy who needed his help. Brunhart barely slept, constantly waking up with a start to make sure Albtraum was still breathing. Much to his relief, every time, Albtraum was still okay.

The next morning, Brunhart woke up rough. His back felt out of shape, his eyes burned in their sockets, and he was freezing. Albtraum was still sleeping peacefully, wrapped up warmly in Brunhart’s long jacket. He smiled for a moment, before reaching over and shaking the young man gently.

“Albtraum,” Brunhart said, “it's time to wake up.”

He groaned, eyes cracking open and looking up at Brunhart. He was glad to see Albtraum could wake up. He stretched, groaning, before making eyes at the bag. Brunhart caught where he was looking, and scooped up the bag, holding it out to him. Albtraum took the bag gratefully, rifling in there for something to eat. He took something with a mumbled thanks, handing the bag over to Brunhart again.

He looked into the bag, and hid his frown. He needed to stock up, but that would have to wait. He would need to ration out his own food portions, make sure Albtraum ate enough before he took anything. He looked content enough, eating his fill. Brunhart took something small from the bag, just something to keep himself going more than anything.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

“I… I think so,” Albtraum shrugged.

“Good. We should keep moving, if you're able,” Brunhart said. “We're not far from a settlement, you can rest there.”

Albtraum nodded, draping Brunhart’s jacket on the crook of his elbow. Pressing his back against the tree, he slowly rose to his feet. A stiff enough wind might have knocked him over, from the looks of him. Once steady, he pulled himself off the tree, and that was when Brunhart finally stood, bag slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t a good idea to make Albtraum walk, but Brunhart couldn’t just babysit him.

“If you feel like you can't walk, tell me,” Brunhart instructed.

“I will,” Albtraum said.

Brunhart was still concerned, but said nothing, starting off at a slow pace for the young man. With any luck, they would find someone who knew the boy there. If not, then it was back to his back-up plan. Brunhart occasionally glanced at Albtraum, making sure he was still okay. And he was, as okay as he could be, after finding him half-dead.

“Where is your family, Albtraum?” Brunhart asked.

Albtraum bristled. “... I haven't seen them in years.” Clearly not a good topic - Brunhart wouldn't press. Albtraum bit his lip, considering his next question, before finally spitting it out. “Do you have a family?”

Brunhart sighed; he should have seen this one coming. “I  _ had _ a family,” he replied. “I lost my wife, almost ten years ago, leaving me with just our daughter.” His expression softened. “She, too, passed away, around five years ago.”

“I see,” Albtraum mumbled, shifting his gaze to anywhere else. “I apologise if I’ve upset you.”

Albtraum was coming out of his shell a little more, and Brunhart was glad to see that. He wondered about this young man, with no friends to call upon, no living family to call his own. Brunhart shook his head. It wasn't his job to know everything about Albtraum, he wasn't the boy's father.The silence that fell between them was comfortable, which Brunhart did appreciate. Albtraum chewed on his cheek, pensive.

“If you have any questions, ask,” Brunhart said, unable to stand his expressions anymore. Mostly, his own curiosity got the better of him.

“Where are we going?” Albtraum finally asked. Brunhart couldn't believe it took him this long to ask.

“There's a large settlement a few hours away by foot,” He replied. “From there, you'll find shelter.”

Albtraum chewed his cheek harder. “What about you?”

Brunhart exhaled softly. “And I'll keep going.”

Silence. Albtraum looked down at the floor, looking like he had another statement on the tip of his tongue. They kept going for a little while, quiet, before Albtraum piped up again.

“And what if I wish to come with you?” He asked, gaze meeting Brunhart’s for a brief, rare moment.

Brunhart froze. Now that was a question he wasn't expecting. Albtraum preferred to wander as well, it seemed. If he had no home, Brunhart supposed it was only normal for him. But he couldn't babysit a child, especially not one who still wobbled on his feet like a young deer.

“You can't,” Brunhart said plainly. “You're safer in a settlement. You can't protect yourself--”

“Then teach me,” Albtraum said, stepping in front of Brunhart.

He had to admire the spunk on the kid, but that was about it. He was determined, it seemed, to keep going. Perhaps he was running from something, someone. Brunhart could only speculate. It wouldn't hurt to teach the boy how to survive on his own, but-- Brunhart slammed the door shut on that idea. He could not take Albtraum with him.

“Albtraum,” he said carefully, “I have friends who will look after you. You'll be safe there.”

Albtraum opened his mouth to argue, but he snapped it shut again, realising Brunhart would not relent. He huffed, holding himself, and Brunhart felt like he was scolding a child. He said nothing, walking past Albtraum, who followed him. He fiddled with the jacket draped on his arm, and Brunhart had almost forgotten about it. He could take it back when they got into the settlement.

Albtraum wobbled on his legs, but he kept walking regardless. Brunhart kept an eye on him, and the longer they walked, the weaker he became. In all fairness, he hadn't eaten very much, and it was surprising he could even stand for this long. It wasn't fair for Brunhart to make him walk for so long. He hesitated, before scooping the unsteady Albtraum into his arms. He gasped in shock, clinging to the old man's neck.

“I told you to tell me when you were tired,” he scolded, and Albtraum looked away.

He settled himself against Brunhart, closing his eyes, and he gave Albtraum a gentle smile. Being like this with someone almost felt like having a family again, even if just for one day. He watched Albtraum drift off to sleep in his arms; he must have needed the rest. He was relatively light, easy to carry, but holding his arms up for this long hurt Brunhart.

Despite the ache in his arms, and despite the weariness in his lower body, Brunhart carried the young man the rest of the way. He stayed asleep, which worried Brunhart, but he was sure to be fine. He was relieved to be in a settlement, to see  _ people _ . That never failed to be a relief. His first stop - Joaquin’s home. He wasn't going to appreciate Brunhart handing him his stray, but he wasn't the type to abandon someone in need. Or, at least, he sure hoped not.

When he did arrive, with Albtraum in his arms, Joaquin shot him that  _ look _ of ‘ _ What is this _ ’. He didn't argue, though, letting Brunhart place him on the worn out couch. He paused to look around; everything was old and worn out. The once tastefully decorated home was now a shell of its former self, but to Brunhart, it was still the best home he had ever seen. Eleven years ago, Joaquin wouldn’t have been caught dead in a home like this. Eleven years ago, society had not yet collapsed.

He left Brunhart and Albtraum to it momentarily, though Brunhart was waiting for the scolding. It would likely be when Albtraum woke up, so Joaquin could raise his voice. He threw a nearby blanket over the boy, brushing hair out of his face. He needed to protect him, keep him safe, but he couldn't do that. Not with the life Brunhart had. He had his shot at parenthood, and he knew how that turned out. He didn’t want to hurt another person.

“What are your plans with this boy?” Joaquin asked. The real question, that Brunhart knew he was dying to ask, was  _ are you leaving him here? _

“I can't take him with me,” Brunhart said, subtly saying yes to the unasked question.

If frowns could make a sound, Joaquin’s would have been yelling. Though, he was making a special effort to not be too loud. He watched Albtraum sleep peacefully for a moment, a soft sigh passing his lips, before looking back at Brunhart.

“It's only for a few days, while he recovers. He hasn't eaten in a while,” Brunhart said. A thousand questions flashed in Joaquin’s eyes. “I have fed him. I should be passing through again in a couple of weeks.”

“Ah, and then you can take back custody of your son?” Joaquin said, and Brunhart had no idea if he was kidding or not.

“And then we'll see.” Brunhart placed his hand on Albtraum’s head, stroking gently. “Two weeks, at most.” He looked over at Joaquin. “Keep him safe.”

Joaquin nodded. Brunhart could have stayed, waited to say goodbye, but Albtraum wouldn't have let him go. He ruffled his hair once last time, before letting go, and walking out. He trusted Joaquin, and he knew the boy would be safe with him.

Brunhart had other errands to run, promises to keep in other places. Two weeks passed, and in that time, he accomplished everything he wanted to. He even managed to procure some expensive fabric for Joaquin, as thanks for looking after Albtraum. He liked to repay his debts to people. He had folded the fabric neatly in his bag, knowing even still, Joaquin would have told him he did it wrong. That man was nothing if not passionate about his interests.

Upon arrival at the settlement, he wasn’t greeted by the usual warm presence of people. Brunhart was aware this was one of the smaller settlements, but it was never this bad. Even the birds were silent in their trees, watching Brunhart. He hesitated, wondering if it was even safe to be here, but a thousand questions filled his being at once. He needed to know what was going on.

“Hello?” he called. “Is anyone out there?”

Calling out was a stupid idea, but he didn’t know what else to do. If anyone came out, at least he would have some kind of answer. As he walked around, he noticed blood stains on walls, bullet holes in the sides of buildings. Animal corpses laid rotting in the autumn sun, and from the smell of them, they were there for a while.

Sudden dread poured into his being like a bitter poison. He had to shake off the thoughts, push them back; Joaquin and Albtraum would have been fine. They found shelter, they ran away, something, anything. Brunhart took a moment to steady his breathing, before pulling out his shotgun, holstered on his back. He could only assume it was the work of raiders; people with no homes, taking from settlements, usually ending in bloodshed like this. This wasn’t helping, however.

He wouldn’t check the other homes, not until he went to Joaquin’s house and made sure those two were safe. That was his first priority. He got to the door, and he hesitated. Normally, Brunhart would have knocked, but not this time. He put his hand on the door, and that was enough to knock the fragile door off his hinges. He watched it topple, wide-eyed, at a loss for words. This didn’t mean anything, either.

Joaquin’s house was a mess; the furniture has been knocked over, ripped, shot at. Signs of a struggle - he didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out. Brunhart ran his hand over a bullet hole on the couch, and he felt cold. Cotton filled his lungs, choking him. This wasn't happening. He looked around every room, and found no trace of either of them. They could have escaped, and Brunhart almost felt relief. There was just one room left to check - Joaquin’s bedroom.

The bedroom stank, a stench Brunhart recognised. It was like the decaying animal corpses from outside, and he hoped it was just the stench leaking through. He covered his nose and mouth with the front of his shirt, looking around. He couldn’t see anything, not at first, not until he saw something hiding behind the long curtains. The pretty pale curtains were stained a dark brown; dried blood. Brunhart prayed to whatever was out there, that it was just someone who had broken in, and hid in Joaquin’s house.

Brunhart pulled back the curtains, and sank to the floor. Albtraum had curled up into a ball, holding his side. His hand was covered in blood, expression twisted in permanent pain. Brunhart held his cold face in his hands, as if somehow, the warmth of his hands would have woken him up. He stroked his cheeks desperately, urging some kind of life into him, but there was nothing. It must have been a couple of days.

He pulled Albtraum into a tight hug, eyes squeezed shut, and letting himself shed a tear. How many times must he go through this? How many people did he have to lose? He stroked his hair so softly, holding Albtraum’s head to his shoulder. He was glad for one thing, at least. Brunhart had a new purpose - find whoever did this, and end them.


End file.
